


Echoes of His Own Damnation

by Scarecrowlover



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon Compliant, Dark, Death, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, I privately feed off of the suffering of others., Percy's Backstory, Torture, Why Did I Write This?, this is horrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 10:17:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11206005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarecrowlover/pseuds/Scarecrowlover
Summary: “Time and space seemed to evade him in the looming darkness. Numbing cold surrounded him like a shroud, embracing him, cradling him, coaxing him back into a deep, restless slumber…”--An interpretation of the canon hardships Percy experienced while he was locked away in the dungeons directly after the Briarwood attack. This takes place in the canon Critical Role universe.





	Echoes of His Own Damnation

**Author's Note:**

> A short little piece that I’ve had written for a while now. I figured I’d share while people are waiting on me to post the next chapter of the modern AU [The Butterfly Effect](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9457541/chapters/21395912) .
> 
> This is definitely a different style than what some of you might be used to when compared to my other work, so just a heads up. Not for the faint of heart.

Dust.  
  
Bile.  
  
Iron...

The sickly melding of flavors was the first sensation that touched Percy in his state of fleeting consciousness. Time and space seemed to evade him in the looming darkness. Numbing cold surrounded him like a shroud, embracing him, cradling him, coaxing him back into a deep, restless slumber...

But he dare not succumb to it again.

Moaning into the darkness, his mind found purchase on the solidity of a feeling, a simple desire that would compel his soul to hold on to the waking world.

He wanted to breath.

And he did; with one heavy, stuttered breath through his nostrils, he smelled nothing but blood and mildew. And something more...Something putrid. Trying to suppress the need to gag, he tried to swallow once, but found his throat dry, aching, uncooperative; unable to act against the crawling knot in his throat.

He remembered screaming.

In an attempt to lick his lips, he realized they were stuck together. Yet as he pulled them apart, he winced as he felt his chapped skin tear itself apart. As he ran his tongue against them, he felt dry blood flake away to make way to fresh, warm crimson.

He remembered pain.

He opened his eyes. They stung against the cold air like an open wound in sand, yet as he tried to blink away the discomfort, he found that his distorted eyesight did not correct itself. He soon came to the realization that his glasses were broken and bent. One lens was missing, while the other was cracked in multiple spots, further distorting his already foggy vision.

He blinked a few more times in an attempt to clarify his vision, and as he slowly but surely coaxed his eyes to produce a few tears, he found himself staring at a moldy wall.

He shifted on the floor and noticed the chains. An iron collar around his neck and manacles around his wrist were connected by a single, sturdy chain. He could feel the blisters burning against the metal. The collar was bulky and thick, and forced his neck into a rigid and uncomfortable position. The bands around his wrists were far too tight, and he could feel his hands had lost warmth.

As he glanced around, he felt dry tears in the corners of his eyes pull tight across his skin. Just out of view, he could see a cell beside him, and what looked like a foot. Determined to get a better visual, he pushed his feet against the wall to move his body closer, but felt a pain so fierce that he cried out in agony, the sound of his cracking voice resonating in the hollow chambers.

He remembered humiliation.

Unable to stand, Percy found himself gasping for air as he continued to stare at the pale foot in the periphery of his vision. His desire to know, to see, to understand prompted him to move through the pain. As he gritted his teeth, he dragged himself across his cell, each and every inch of movement causing his body to shudder and convulse as it endured though the ripping sensation of a dozen slash wounds reopening on his back, warmth soaking his shirt once more.

Closing the distance with the adjacent cell, he pressed his forehead against the bars and closed his eyes, his cheek resting against the floor that felt like ice against his flesh. Taking a moment to regain a simple point of reference in the cloud of misery, his eyes opened once more and his lips parted.

“Oliver,” he whispered, his voice barely a sigh in the darkness.

No movement.

The body in the cell beside him was motionless, his head facing away from Percy.

“Oliver,” he hissed again, his hand trying to reach through the bars and touch him.

Fighting against the desire to collapse once more, he stretched as far as he could, his neck straining as he struggled to touch him. However, he found that the chains prevented him from extending his hands to where they needed to be.

As his hand collapsed back on the stone, Percy’s eyes drifted to a new form. Just behind Oliver, he noticed Whitney, sprawled out on the floor in a position that was not natural. Her fingers seemed frozen in a state of convulsion, fending off -- or perhaps... reaching out to unseen demons. Behind her hair -- that was once beautiful but now plastered against her sallow face -- milky lifeless eyes stared into nothingness.

Percy’s attention was drawn to the rustling of thatch. His eyes followed a rat skitter up toward the two bodies, and as it started to gnaw on one of Oliver’s fingers, Percy banged his clenched fists against the bars, scaring it off.

His siblings did not move, nor did not make a sound, though the buzzing of flies circuiting around the cell did fill the silence for but a moment before they landed back on their faces, crawling into their ears, nostrils, and parted lips.

He remembered _violence_.

Percy found darkness smother his form as profound heartbreak threatened to consume him once more. Yet as he cried out into the gloom for any sign of consolation, begging the gods to heed his prayers for once in his tormented life and rid him of his suffering, he received no response but the echoes of his own damnation.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading...and I'm sorry.
> 
> I may or may not potentially publish a few more chapters of this, where I will depict Percy's escape, but I make no promises. My hands are already full with my other fic and I'm already slower than usual. Let me know what you all think and have a lovely day.


End file.
